Vulnero animum
by lastoneatthedisco
Summary: After the Trio visits Xeno Lovegood, they discover that Voldemort isn't their only enemy. Harry and Jake, an American teen, switch bodies due to an experimental spell. They must reunite to defeat both Voldemort and the American conspiracy. Canon to DH.
1. Chapter 1

The Entrumpet horn may have caused the most damage to the Lovegoods' house, but this was not how Harry Potter ended up concussed on the stairs. Ron and Hermione continued to fire off spells, making their way over to Harry's unconscious form. Ron narrowly dodged another piece of the ceiling falling into the parlor. He managed to yell "Reducto!" at the swiftly advancing Death Eater, but missed, shattering one of Xenophilius's odd instruments. Hermione had a better angle on the target and felled him with a Stunning Spell. Ron got the next Death Eater similarly as he almost tripped over rubble. The friends rushed to Harry. He was scratched up, but other than a nasty cut across his chin, Harry had no other external injuries. Hermione grabbed Ron's hand, pushed Harry into a seated position, and concentrated on an old campsite as the trio Apparated from the scene.

Harry's head was still spinning. How stupid was it for him to show up at the doorstep of a newspaper publisher, regardless of the weird articles he puts in the tabloid? Just because his daughter considered us as her friends doesn't mean he'd do the same. And could all three Hallows be real? The invisibility cloak from the tale fits the description of his own Cloak. If the other two existed, would Harry be able to bring back Sirius? Or his parents, he thought wistfully. Harry also had a nagging feeling that those Death Eaters weren't only after him at the Lovegoods'. Was there some secret of Voldemort's that Xeno knew? Harry calmed a bit, then wondered what curse had made him feel so groggy. A usual Stunning Spell doesn't do this. Chirps from the fauna outside pierced through the jumble of thoughts building up in Harry's brain. Maybe the woodland creatures will bring him some food if Hermione won't, Harry mused.

Admitting to himself that he was awake now, he attemped to lift his head from the pillow.The light streamed through plastic blinds, hitting his fluttering eyelids. He managed to sit up in the bed and looked around the room. He had expected to wake up in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey nervously bustling about with nostrums to cure his ails, but he had never been in this room before. He reached for his glasses and examined the room more closely. He was surrounded by posters advertising various movies, bands, cars, and sports on the walls. A mirror hung opposite the window. Strewn about the floor were copious amounts of clothes, shoes, food wrappers, and papers. Exactly like Ron's room at the Burrow, Harry thought. Then to his surprise, Harry spotted a television (which Ron wouldn't have, but maybe his dad) in the corner near a desk and chair. A computer on the desk awaited his curious fingers, which had only worked a computer keyboard when his cousin Dudley was out of the house. Harry smelled food cooking: bacon, eggs, cheese, and spices filled the room with an aromatic haze that his empty stomach could not resist.

Someone rapped on the door. A foot clad in a sandal poked into the room; a girl's head followed. "Hermi-" Harry stammered, but then he saw that the girl was not his dear friend but only a stranger. "Good, you're awake. How are you feeling? Mom and Dad have been asking a lot of questions about what happened. I have a few of my own, like 'Why did you go after me?' and 'What possible reason do you have for trying to ruin my life?' I didn't have that much to drink, so you didn't need to rescue me from horny football guys!"

Harry had a hard time focusing on what the girl was saying (in a caustic tone, he'd add), but he did take note of her appearance. She was a few years younger than him, he guessed, with stringy black hair tied in a tousled ponytail. Her lighter eyebrows loomed over speckled hazel eyes and flashes of silver shone from the braces on her teeth. Donning all black and leaning her body on the doorframe, she paused, obviously waiting for Harry to respond.

"Who are you? Where am I? What have you done to me?" Harry babbled with an escalating panic. In turn, hostility radiated from the girl.

"Excuse me? You are going to lie there and play victim to me with a British accent? Is this a joke to you? I don't care how popular you are, Jake, but I can't be your perfect sister. Look, I can't even – go, eat breakfast." She abruptly turned and stalked off.

As Elaine muttered down the hall, Harry sorted out the situation. He was not with Ron or Hermione. This girl took care of him and considered him to be her brother. Based on her accent, he's possibly in America, or at least the family is American. The sister may be upset with him for being overprotective at a party. If her parties are anything like a good post-Quidditch celebration, she would need protection, Harry grumbled to himself. From the use of electricity to the computer in the corner, Harry was confident that Muggles owned the house.

Harry stepped tentatively onto the floor and shuffled over to the mirror. He saw an unrecognizable face blanch in shock. His current body didn't look much like the "real" Harry Potter. He was now almost as tall as Ron, and could pass as a very distant cousin to the Weasleys. Unlike Elaine's lank locks, Harry's hair was buzzed short and a color between blond and red. Blue-grey eyes examined the scarless forehead, the stubble on his jaw, the bruise on his thick neck. He inhaled heavily and winced; he felt more bruises along his ribs.

"Hey, doofus, your breakfast is getting cold!" Elaine yelled. Harry sighed and pulled out some clothes from the drawer. Briefly scanning the room one more time, he detected no sign of his wand or his Mokeskin pouch. He questioned whether he could even get a replacement wand soon, not considering that he may not even be able to do magic right now. Hermione would tell him to proceed with caution, but what he was going to do next remained a mystery.

Elaine drank some coffee, sobering up by every sip. She knew she was in trouble. Jake (and his car) sustained the most damage from the accident last night. Somehow, she and Marcus remained unscathed, aside from her throwing up whatever gross beer was in that cup. Elaine racked her brain, but she couldn't remember how they or Marcus managed to get home. It'd be very bad for both her and Jake if the answers to her parents' questions were incomplete.

She shifted her attention back to Jake. This boy in front of her behaved quite unlike Jake's normal liveliness. Lost in thought, he ate just as quickly as Jake normally does, yet he held the juice glass carefully, as if he was performing for a test. After he had come downstairs, she asked him about last night, school, Mom and Dad, Marcus, anything she could think of to prove that he was her brother Jake. He kept saying he didn't know. That was terrifying.

He cleared his throat. "I'm not your brother, you know," Jake said slowly, still with that British accent. "I'm not even a Muggle, though I lived with some. I think you should know that with me around, you'll be in grave danger." He paused for a moment, setting down his fork. "Can I trust you?"

She nodded, hoping not-Jake had an explanation for her brother's whereabouts and why she was with this impostor instead of him.

He stared at her for a long time, almost as if he was looking into the deep recesses of her soul. "You can call me 'Nigel'. I am a wizard. Unless you can perform magic, too, you would be called a 'Muggle' by other wizards. As you've deduced, I am not American. Oh, by the way, where are we, exactly?"

Elaine snapped to attention. "Uh, well, we're in Euless, Texas, sitting in my kitchen," she responded casually. "Hmm," the boy breathed. He continued.

"Currently, I am fighting against an evil wizard, Lord Voldemort. He has control over most British wizarding society. My friends and I have been weakening said wizard for the past few months, at least we hope. We were gathering information from a supposed ally when we were ambushed by the Death Eaters, Voldemort's private army. I was dueling with one of them and got hit by a curse, apparently knocking me out. Then I woke up here."

Elaine was unsatisfied and a little disturbed by the story. She could tell that "Nigel" withheld most of the important details, but for what reason? Part of her really wants this story to be an extended prank crafted by Jake to make light of the massive amounts of trouble they're in with Mom and Dad. Another part of her needs to hear the rest of "Nigel's" story, no matter how ridiculous and unbelieveable it already was. Feeling now was a good time, she asked the most important questions first.

"Do you have any proof that magic exists? If so, could you turn back into my brother?" She crossed her arms, daring "Nigel" to show her some magic, right there in the kitchen. He looked at the refrigerator sheepishly.

"Er, the thing is -"

"What, didn't pack your eye of newt? Your broomstick lost its bristles? Wand missing?"

"Why, yeah! To the last one." He then concentrated on his plate under a withering glare from Elaine.

This kid is more messed up than Marcus, for Pete's sake, she silently lamented. He is going to be a disaster at school.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I am absolutely stupid. I started plotting out this story back in June, with the intention of it being fairly short. I was wrong; inevitably, a simple idea like a bodyswitch between Harry and an OC will end up with a new 'verse. I should have known.

On a lighter note, I have two or three new chapters in the can, which I'll post soon.

Jo Rowling and WB own their characters; I own mine.

Dawn brokeover the dewy field. Jake had a pounding headache and a growling stomach. He couldn't help but dwell on last night. Why did he have to drive so fast after the party? It's not like Connie DiMicco is going to sic the cops on him after they drove away. He wasn't even drinking or high, unlike Elaine. Marcus should learn to keep his mouth shut about her. Oh, Mom and Dad are gonna be pissed when they find out why he was at Connie's house so late. That's it, he decided, no more getting into trouble.

Blinking his eyes a little wider open, Jake sleepily took in his surroundings. The faint odor of cat lingered on the air. Light streamed from what appeared to be the opening of a tent. The rough blanket and thin mattress felt both familiar and foreign against his skin. He shook his arms and legs slightly in an effort to wake up properly, when a strange vision cloaked the unknown location.

Jake flies across the countryside, anger simmering behind his eyes. He lands at an opulent house, old and dark against weak shadows from the trees. The pure white peacocks stare dumbly at him, then scatter as Jake approaches the gate. He peers down at a massive snake and whispers, "Soon you will have dinner." Oddly, he hears himself hissing the sentence. The door opens, and Jake's rage boils over at the cowering man in the vestibule. "Malfoy," he calls coldly and clearly, "it seems that Potter has slipped through your fingers again. If your Lord has requested an action, his servant must follow without hesitation. You do not have many more chances, Lucius, and if I am summoned here without Potter prostrate, there will be dire consequences for the entire house…"

Jake snapped out of the vision, pale and shaking with the worst headache of his 17 years. What the hell just happened? Shocked fully awake, and with much panting, he looked upon two unfamiliar, blurry faces. One of them handed over a pair of glasses.

"Harry, please don't tell me you had another vision! I thought you were trying to block You-Know-Who out of your head? At least you're awake now. Ron and I couldn't wake you up for ages, and we thought we lost you for a while there," a girl's voice said.

"Yeah, you should've seen the curses they were throwing after you collapsed! I got a really good Stunning Spell on one of 'em and then Hermione grabbed us to Apparate away. Dunno where we are, though. You'll have to ask Hermione after she's done playing Healer," a cheerful male voice responded.

Jake's mind raced. The voices sounded British, maybe. The pair, a gangly redheaded boy and an intense girl with a swishing ponytail, looked to be about his age. They obviously care about him, and with those cautious half-smiles between them, they care about each other a great deal. He just might tell them about the giant snake and the haggard man in the mansion.

"Harry, I think you need to take a look at the cut on your lip – here, I'll get a mirror." The girl (Hermyohnee? Or Hermione?) pulled out a small beaded bag. "Accio mirror!" she intoned. Jake hazily saw the small mirror pop into the girl's hand, then she held it up to his face. Jake took the mirror from her.

He audibly gasped. Gone were his translucent eyebrows and shortly cropped strawberry blond hair; thick, unruly black hair and a heavy 5 o'clock shadow framed a completely different face from the one he had at the party. Jake, of course, did not recognize the face; although Harry Potter is one of the most famous wizards alive, he could have passed as an average student at any high school. Yet, there was something a bit familiar around those vibrant green eyes, glittering a bit more than his usual glaucous irises. It reminded Jake of one of his friends at school, or maybe a teammate from one of his clubs. He brushed the hair away from his forehead, tracing the lightning bolt-shaped scar gingerly as it stung to touch it. Suddenly he noticed the cut on his hand: "I must not tell lies."

"Blimey, Harry, you've been staring at yourself for about ten minutes. Didn't think this would be the time you'd get vain. Fred and George said that if you start to turn into Percy, we'll get you to test more Skiving Snackboxes." The boy Ron snickered behind his hand. "But seriously, mate, you don't look the same. I mean, you look like you, and you look like someone else at the same time. Did You-Know-Who do something funny during the vision, or is it something else? Don't get all sulky like with the locket." Ron tried to rile up Jake, but it didn't work.

Hermione had finished the tea by this time, and frowned when Ron mentioned that cursed locket. She offered Jake tea and looked at him with concern. "Harry, why aren't you talking? Please, just say anything." Quiet desperation filled the tent as Hermione's tears threatened to crest.

Jake looked at Harry's scarred hand, took a calming breath, and followed orders. "I am not who you think I am. I do not know where I am. I have no idea what's going on, at all. I-" Jake was cut off by the pair pointing sticks at him, their eyes reluctantly murderous.

"What was your birthday cake shaped like?" Ron barked, all traces of laughter gone from his face.

"When we escaped Bagshot's house, what did I take?" Hermione demanded shakily.

Jake, not knowing about Bagshot or a certain cake, answered truthfully. "How would I know? You're the ones who've captured me!" Lingering frustration forced its way into Jake's voice. "You've switched me and this Harry dude, and now you're gonna finish me off 'cause I can't tell y'all what a stupid cake looked like."

Hermione exchanged an alarmed look with Ron, maintaining the defense.

Ron spoke, his voice a little higher than before. "I'm not afraid to use an Unforgivable Curse on you, Death Eater! Tell us how you've kept looking like Harry without Polyjuice Potion."

Hermione still had her wand trained on Jake, but she was rummanging around in her beaded bag. Unable to find whatever she was searching for, she faced Jake once more. "Tell me what you know about Harry Potter, all of it. I will know if you lie, or leave out information, so tell the truth," she said with less conviction than the other interregator.

"Is Harry the kid I switched with? If so, all I know is that I look like him right now, and that he has freaky visions with big snakes in it. Um, he's also British and uses magic like y'all. That's pretty much it."

Ron stared at him curiously, trying to tease out the truth from what he said. Hermione, on the other hand, looked as if she had just remembered something.

"Ron, I think he's telling the truth. Since when do Death Eaters not spit at the sight of a known Mudblood," she pointed to herself, "or not overpower us fugitives to take to You-Know-Who? Did you read any of Mr. Lovegood's old papers yesterday? I think one of the articles talked about the Ministry using a new spell to 'cure' Muggleborns of magic." Ron looked at her as if she had grown two other heads. "Ron, I know the whole paper is ridiculous, but if there's a shred of truth, we'll need it. Now, if I could find that silly tabloid…" she trailed off and searched the bag again.

"I told you that he'd reported what the _Prophet_ didn't," Ron muttered. He had a flash of inspiration. He shouted "Petrificus Totalus!", and Jake was suddenly immobile.

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said softly.

Jake tried to give Ron the stinkeye, but he had already turned around to take a stack of newspapers from Hermione.

"Well, let's start, then." The pair spent more than an hour poring through the tabloids, most with lurid headlines such as, "Unspeakables brew new uberwizard in Dept. of Mysteries!", "Inferi really coming back to life!", "Gnome overthrow of Death Eater Ministry!", and "Harry Potter seen in Godric's Hollow!" The most unusual thing about the papers was that all the illustrations moved. Sure, Jake had seen plenty of gifs on the internet, and his mom had one of those slideshow picture frames on the mantle. However, the shadowy figures and zombies didn't seem to loop – he stared at one cover for three minutes and the figure left the picture. I bet Elaine would flip if she could figure out how to do that, Jake thought calmly.

Now that the shock of being frozen had thawed, he resigned himself to the control of the boy and the girl. The phrase "Stockholm Syndrome" flitted through his brain. After all, these two weren't so bad. Considering how much power they had over him, he's lucky to be alive. Hermione seemed to be the brains of the operation, and Ron the muscle. Yet before he was "outed", the friends had been more casual, relaxed, even lovey-dovey. There had been many heavy hints that they (including Jake too, he supposes) were fighting a guerilla war, teens against a machine. How did Harry fit into this, with all the press about him as some sort of "Public Enemy No. 1"? Next time that he's able to move, he should find out as much as he can about Harry Potter. Oh, and maybe try to escape too.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I thought I had published this earlier, but I haven't logged on FF in months, so oops?

Jo Rowling and WB own their characters; I own mine.

"Oh, brother of mine! Rise and shine! We have work to do," Elaine sang at Josh's door. Harry groaned. He was really lucky that she agreed on a cover story for last Friday night. That is, she told him to merely nod while she did most of the talking to her parents. Harry explained to them that the British accent was practice for a school play and he was "going Method", whatever that meant. Elaine took the fall for him, yet they both had to scrub down the entire house as punishment. Cleaning took up the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday, until Mrs. Lawson dismissed Elaine and Harry to let them finish homework.

Elaine pulled a chair into Josh's room and sat down across from Harry. "I think this is the first time I've seen the floor in here. Thank you on behalf of my absent brother." Elaine smiled.

"You're welcome, sis?" Harry hesitated, not knowing whether to play along or be "Nigel". Elaine laughed, then scowled at the notebook in her lap. They worked on their assignments in silence; Harry read a novel while Elaine copied notes from a book.

After her initial outburst, Harry grew to like Elaine, but he was a little out of his depth here. Girls were confusing. Sure, he was friends with Hermione and Luna (and Ginny, if she'd forgive him for their breakup), but having been alternately isolated and idolized by crowds of girls over the years only taught him one thing: stick with people you can trust. For example, he had known Ginny for several years without any idea that she fancied him; it wasn't until she returned his kiss that he was sure of her feelings.

Elaine, on the other hand, had no previous history with him. She was a stranger; every new expression from her was unpredictable. Really, what was she playing at when she kept asking questions about his "life on the run"? He still didn't know where they stood in terms of keeping his secret. Elaine should be wary around him. She knew less about him than he did her. Maybe her instinctual distrust of the mind in her brother's body indicates her trustworthiness, he thought.

"Hey Nigel?"

"Oh, er, yeah?"

"Did you learn any of this stuff at wizard school?" Elaine held up a world history textbook.

"Yeah, but if the battles don't involve goblin insurrection or dragon hunting, then it's not covered." Harry vaguely recalled a History of Magic lesson with Professor Binns that involved goblin insurrection.

"What about math?"

He glanced down at the book with triangles on the cover. It reminded him of the Deathly Hallows and how convinced he was of their existence. If only he could talk to Ron and Hermione now. He conceded to himself that finding and mastering the Elder Wand now would be as likely as his parents walking with him in the Forbidden Forest tomorrow. But then again, he considered, he never expected to wake up in someone else's body on a different continent.

"Well?" Elaine cleared her throat.

"No, Herm- my friend is good with numbers, but I'm a bit rusty." Harry's stomach clenched with apprehension. When cleaning yesterday, Harry found Jake's schedule and saw that introductory tests for the new semester were coming up. He hadn't gone to Muggle school since age ten, and between ending up on the roof after evading Dudley and his gang, and growing out a bad haircut overnight, he had had trouble concentrating in class. This, of course, didn't mean he was bad at maths, but he won't go from long division to precalculus in a week's span.

"Elaine, what will happen if I fail the exams? My last maths were fractions." Harry cracked open the book. "What is a cosine, anyway?" he grimaced.

"No more track team or choir for you. You'll lose your fanbase, too; those freshman girls only go after the soloists, bro." Elaine could barely contain her glee.

"Wait… So I'm popular?" Why couldn't he have switched with an average boy?

"You could say that." Elaine's eyes flashed with menacing pleasure. "You're kinda nice, for a criminal," she started, shifting to a serious mien. "But Jake, he's been quite the jerk lately. Last year, he gave up on being nice to be popular, and it worked. An attractive athlete with good grades and a decent singing voice? Of course everyone will like him. But I didn't. Jake stopped hanging out with me and Marcus, and he quit art club because 'the right people' weren't in the club." Elaine gazed at Harry, hoping he'd understand.

"He didn't beat anyone up, did he?"

"No, I don't think so. People will hassle you if you don't pass the tests, though."

Harry skimmed the precal text with increased vigor; he had faced far worse than name-calling from classmates, but he's too tired to deal with it. Luckily for him, Jake took Latin as his second language. When preparing lessons for DA, Harry had brushed up on Latin to "better understand how spells function", as Hermione put it. English involved reading novels and then writing essays about them, activities he was fully capable of. Chemistry concerned him as well as percal, but he could let his lab partner do the work until Jake comes back.

Harry opened the door to Parker High School for Elaine on Monday morning. She gave him an oddly tender look, then rushed to her locker. Last night, they had printed a map of the school (from the computer!) and Elaine marked where Jake's classes took place. Going with the flow, he moved to Jake's locker. Kids in the hall would yell, "Yo, Jake, Friday was sick!" and "Jake, you da man!". Lots of high-fives were thrown, and lots of toes belonging to freshman girls were stepped on by the newly clumsy "Jake".

Harry sighed. Although this gauntlet was preferable in some ways to the desperate searching for Horcruxes, he didn't want to meet a whole new set of fans ready to turn on him. The locker loomed in front of him, taunting Harry with its unknown contents. Harry didn't know the combination; neither did Elaine. He put his fingers on the lock, when numbers rushed into Harry's brain. The door swung open, clanking against the neighboring locker. How did that open? Did he use magic? Did he remember from Jake's memory?

Harry felt a tap on the shoulder and nearly jumped. A dark, scrawny teen with all black clothes like Elaine's looked up at Harry's face, resigned. "Look, Jake, uh, I'm sorry about Friday. We were both out of line. I mean, Elaine's your sister and my g- best friend." Harry guessed that he was Marcus.

"Er, we were only protecting her," from stupid drunk boys, he added silently.

"D'ya wanna go to the Quiz Bowl meeting after school today? You can skip choir girls for one day. We'll make it up to you." Marcus's face was unscrutable, yet a peculiar glimmer by his deep brown eyes cracked the façade. "And you don't have to do your British accent at practice anymore, unless you want to."

"Yeah, I'll go."

Marcus's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Really? Even after what I said to you?"

"It's water under the bridge, mate." Harry mentally cursed himself out. He needed to blend in more and using non-American slang won't help.

"If you're sure, Jake, then I'll see you there. In the regular room." Marcus placed a pleased look on his face, however there was no warmth to his smile.

"Right then. See you later." Harry turned away from Elaine's friend.

Harry had a nagging feeling about Marcus during their conversation. When he looked at Marcus, or stood next to him, he felt a familiar humming that he didn't realize was missing. Was that what _magic_ feels like to Muggles? Maybe he's a wizard, he thought. He closed the locker quickly and dashed to his first class, hoping no one noticed his dazed expression.

The first class of the morning was Latin; as Harry predicted, the extra practice during his fifth year served him well. Apparantely, Jake was quite skilled in Latin. The teacher called on Harry to translate several lines of the Cicero speech after the other students stared blankly at her. She even smiled at him, causing the girl sitting in front of him to turn and murmur, "You got the she-beast to grin. What's next? A dance routine?" Harry snickered.

Other classes, like English and history, blurred together as lunchtime approached. Harry found himself in precalculus right before lunch. He tried to merge his large body into the desk, covering his face with his textbook. Unfortunately, as with any perceptive teacher, Ms. Reid zeroed in on his evasive behavior.

"Mr. Lawson, can you provide an example of a hyperbolic function in which its asymptotes approach zero?" She paused at his desk. Harry tore away from the book, wildly looking at everyone else but her. Most of the students glanced at him with amusement, while a pretty black-haired girl quietly passed a note under his too-small desk.

"Er, um…'cosecant x?'" he read.

"That's right, Jake, but next time don't let Ms. DiMicco feed you an answer."

Ms. Reid strode back to the whiteboard in the front of the class. "As _Connie_ said, this function…"

Harry shot a look of gratitude to this Connie, but she wasy already busy copying from the board.


End file.
